


Do Ricks Dream of Electric Mortys?

by futagogo



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Drinking, Drugs, Incest, M/M, dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futagogo/pseuds/futagogo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick struggles with the memories of his last Morty while trying to navigate the waters with his current one. NOTE: Takes place prior to the events of S1E10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is our first fic in 10 years and was quite a learning experience.  
> Thanks goes out to [kouskousx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KousKousx/pseuds/KousKousx) for screen-testing the beta version and to [dadvans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dadvans/pseuds/dadvans) for his thorough feedback.

“Morty, pass me thaAAUGht intracranial bioscope. The—it’s the one on the shelf. Second from the top, Morty.”

Rick Sanchez’s hands were currently occupied, shoulder-deep in the underbelly of his latest creation. The behemoth of cold metal and tangled wires took up a third of the dank garage. As unseemly as it was to look at, it had monopolized Rick's world for the past few weeks.

Morty Smith was all elbows and knees as he clambered off the top of the machine and made his way to the rickety metal shelves. Despite the late hour, he would trip over his own feet to play the part of grandpa’s little helper—a thankless but strangely satisfying role. Junk clanked and glass rattled inside mildewed cardboard boxes as he rummaged around the shelves.

“Uh, Rick, w-w-w-what’s it look like again? The intra-crackle—cranbow—”

“Enough, enough. Jesus, Morty. It’s a crime against science, the shit comin’ outta yer mouth.” Rick punctuated his remark with a rumbling burp. He rolled back on the mechanics creeper to wave a hand dismissively in Morty’s direction while the other drew his flask from his lab coat. “Y-you really haven’t caught onto anything we’ve been working on?” He stopped to take a swig, spittle flying when another burp erupted past his lips. “Open your eyes, Morty. This thing’s gonna be big. Gonna be bringin’ in the big schmeckles.” He grunted into a sitting position. “The least you can do is take a—h-have some ownership for what we’re making.”

“ _We’re_ making?” Morty muttered under his breath. He didn’t have the usual energy to push it, so he settled for busying himself, rifling through the gadgets on the shelves instead. Deep lines were etched under his eyes, and his already pathetic posture seemed to sag just a little more than usual. The long nights were taking their toll. Rick regarded him askance before hauling himself up, wiping the spit from his chin, and tucking away the flask.

 _His_ Morty would’ve known what he was looking for. _His_ Morty would’ve picked up on things right from the start.

With a sigh, Rick reached up and over Morty’s head to pluck a long, stainless steel, and utterly nondescript cylinder from between two dusty beakers. “It’s this one, dummy,” he said simply.

Even with a belly swimming with liquor, Rick wasn’t far gone enough to miss the signs: the way Morty’s knuckles clutched tighter to the shelf’s edge; the way he shifted on his feet, as though torn between running off and staying rooted where he stood.

The kid was a textbook case of anxiety—a mess of worry and no guts.

 _His_ Morty had been something else entirely, and the thought alone tugged a corner of his lips into a wry grin.

Where the Morty of C-137 was weak, cowardly, and incompetent, the Morty of D-248 had been resilient, unflinching, and fiercely independent. Looking at his grandson now, genetically identical in every way except where it mattered, Rick felt something lurch in his chest. For all that C-137's hapless nature irked him, Rick found himself constantly tempted to revive what he'd had with his last Morty through him. Temporarily forgetting that they were by no means the same Morty, Rick reached forward and ruffled the boy’s soft curls.

For being a teenage boy, Morty took hygiene surprisingly seriously and even had a proclivity for his sister’s brand of conditioner, it seemed, judging by the silky texture of his brown hair. Rick closed two fingers together, rubbing at a fine lock absentmindedly. If Morty lolled his head ever so slightly into the touch, Rick didn't notice as a memory took him.

 

_He held the same shade of hair in his fingers, only it was coarser and grimier. Days in the alien scrublands had that effect on human hair. What started as a routine errand to deliver contraband to an alien guerrilla army had since been blown wide open, and in the gaping wound it left behind, the two humans were stranded in the extraterrestrial wilderness to fend for themselves._

_A minor setback in Rick’s book, all things considered. He could keep himself occupied enough, sending Morty off to scavenge for raw materials to Frankenstein together a new portal gun. Here, the soil was laced with conductive elements, base particles that could be coaxed and caressed into what Rick needed. But the elements were only found in trace amounts. So while Rick toiled in their makeshift shelter, Morty spent every precious minute of their short daylight hours gathering what he could. When the night wind finally chased him back inside, Rick was always there to receive him with a ruffle through his hair._

_The small form nestled against his belly would shiver as the frigid nocturne air needled him through his threadbare shirt. But Morty was silent through it all, too strong and too proud to give in to baser needs as the dull hurts of the planet pecked away at him. In the face of such trials that would’ve left any other child mewling for home, Morty was unshakable. In this deceptively simple boy, Rick had found a partner that could carry him through his adventures—the perfect formula of resourcefulness, blind loyalty, and ingenuity to complement his genius when it landed him in the worst of messes. For that, Rick thanked every iteration of God that he’d come to know throughout the universes._

_If during those fathomless nights Rick buried his face in the greasy and filthy locks, then he told himself he was only doing it for the extra warmth._

 

“Uh, R-Rick? Everything okay?”      

Morty stepped back from Rick’s touch, knocking over a discarded beer bottle and sending it spinning into a corner of the garage. Rick was promptly jarred from his reverie with an imperceptible shudder. He blinked once, looked down at Morty, and scowled.

“Y-y-you’re acting pretty funny, Rick.” Morty ran his fingers over the patch of hair where Rick had touched him. “Don’t, uh, tell me you’re getting senile on me now,” he laughed uncomfortably, eventually trailing off into an awkward, thick silence.

“Look, Morty, if you’re not gonna help, then make yourself useful by taking th-that, uh, stink out of my garage.” Rick turned sharply back to the machine and jammed the device into a port on its side. “You know you smell like a—one of those, those mall bimbos with that Garnier shit on you. You got any idea how expeEEAUGnsive that stuff is?”

A flip of a few switches and the screen hummed to life.

Behind him, he heard Morty suck in a sharp breath, but the silence held. Then there was the soft murmur of something that could’ve been _Guess I’ll see you tomorrow._ or _Fine. Sorry._ and the garage door clicked shut behind him. Rick placed both hands on the console, inhaled the copper smell of electricity, and sighed, his shoulders sinking beneath the thrum in the air, suddenly too heavy to bear. He immersed himself in the comforting lines and rhythms of logic that only science could provide him.

 

~~*~~

In the confines of the garage that was quickly becoming his second home, Morty compulsively clutched and released the hem of his shirt as he sat atop the silent clothes dryer. He wasn't used to seeing Rick so obsessed with an invention, and the shift in their dynamic was making the acid in this stomach churn.

With his other devices, Rick couldn’t stop bragging about his gizmos that bridged the gap between sci-fi and reality. But after Rick’s initial rush of exhilaration when the commission first came in, he had grown strangely quiet, whittling down any conversation to bitter quips and demeaning insults offset only by a smattering of spontaneous affection. It left Morty constantly on edge, expecting a cuff to the head just as readily as a tender pat.

As the clock neared quarter to 2:00, Morty struggled to keep his eyes open. It’d been hours since he’d last exchanged any meaningful words with Rick, and he had to wonder what he was even doing here. Rick hadn’t expressly asked for his help that night—or the previous night or the night before that, for that matter—but coming into the garage before the dinner table had even been cleared was now such a routine for Morty that he no longer thought to do otherwise. After all, given his already limited selection of people to actually spend time with, Rick still inexplicably topped the list.

To his parents, Morty was little more than a permanent symptom of their unhappy marriage; to Summer, he was the pain-in-the-butt kid brother. He shared so little in common with the rest of his family that Morty actually preferred the stench of stale alcohol and biting remarks to the utter loneliness he felt inside his own home. Because in those brief instances where he earned a lopsided grin or playful ruffle through his hair from Rick, the dingy garage was his Eden.

At the far end of the desk, Rick was currently working on one of a matching set of small, spider-like devices clamped neatly into the desk’s vice. Thick-lensed goggles and accompanying elbow-length rubber gloves made him look every bit the mad scientist he was, and a small, pink tongue peeked out endearingly from the corner of his mouth as he prodded the delicate insides of the device with a micro-precision screwdriver.

Morty dragged his half-lidded eyes sluggishly over Rick’s form as he tried to stifle a yawn. When he leaned back on his hands, his fingers brushed against something cool and smooth. He looked down, curious, and found a small bracelet of matte gray. In its center, a digital face glowed with a string of alien figures in brilliant green.

Glancing over quickly to make sure that Rick was still occupied—he was now occasionally lifting one device to his temple then lowering it again to make an adjustment—Morty plucked the small bracelet from the desk and turned it over in his hand. Despite its size, it had substantial weight to it. But what caught Morty’s eye the most was how the display never skewed no matter which way he turned it. The foreign characters remained level, tenaciously countering whatever angle they were tilted at.

No doubt it was a token picked up on one of Rick's intergalactic trips, but Morty hadn’t the slightest idea of where. He was usually too busy dodging lasers to really admire the unique cultures of each planet they visited. Rick’s shelves were cluttered with tools and half-finished projects, not sentimental pieces of kitsch. Maybe there was some significance to the bracelet. 

He noticed a thin seam interrupting its otherwise unmarred surface. At the slightest tug, the bracelet swung open on an invisible hinge. It might have just been a trick of the light when he saw what could only be described as threads of blue electricity jumping between the open ends. As he gazed more closely at it, the bracelet began to tremble. This got Morty’s attention now, and though a small part of his brain was sending out warning signals that this wasn’t going to end well, his curiosity got the better of him. He lifted a tentative finger to touch the rim of the loop. With a violent shake, the bracelet whipped off his palm and latched firmly onto Morty’s wrist.

He yelped loudly, not so much out of surprise but by the sensation of tiny metal teeth clamping down into his soft skin. The alien characters had turned red and were dancing wildly over the display as the thing emitted a low-pitched humming that was quickly climbing.

“M-Morty!? The fuck are you doing?” Rick’s voice rang clear over the incessant whining from the bracelet. He propped the goggles over his forehead as he got up from his work.

“I-I-I didn’t do anything! Jeez, Rick, the heck is this thing, anyway?” He winced as the clamp on his wrist tightened another degree. “I-it’s going to bite through my arm! D-do something, Rick!”

Almost bored, Rick took his time peeling the gloves off before answering, “Better shhuUGHHt that thing off, Morty, unless you want to jerk yourself off left-handed the rest of your life. That what you want, Morty? ‘Cause that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t stop spazzing out on me.”

“W-w-what!? Aw, man. Jeez!” Morty’s eyes brimmed hotly with tears of panic and embarrassment. He was clutching just above the alien object but managed to calm himself down enough to hold his arm out stiffly. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for his grandfather to make things right.

The whining had escalated to an ear-piercing intensity, but Rick was unaffected as he took a moment to look dispassionately at the small and pathetic boy quaking before him. The passing look of regret on his face went unseen as he softly touched Morty’s wrist.

 

_It was amazing how adaptable humans could be. Even Rick had to give a nod to his genetic makeup, so thoroughly hardwired to adhere to a routine._

_Only a few weeks in and Rick was starting to call their cramped cave “home.” A smooth and mostly level rock passed for a worktable, and a thick carpet of pressed vegetation provided just enough comfort at night. It wasn’t much, but when the suns were beating down mercilessly during the daylight hours, the coolness of the cave was sheer bliss._

_In between runs for materials or sustenance, Morty would set himself by the entrance as lookout. The first nights there had taught them a tough lesson in the dangers of the planet’s crepuscular critters_ — _large, green things that bound on all fours, mouths gaping open. Morty’s plasma gun kept them safe enough, and by now the local wildlife had learned not to mess with the strange, bipedal creatures that had moved into the neighborhood._

_Rick’s complexion never lost its ashy tinge as he stayed cooped up in the cave, but Morty’s already olive skin had deepened a shade or two where the incessant suns kissed it, Rick noticed. He noticed how it made the milk of Morty’s belly and buttocks stand out in contrast even in the dim of the cave’s interior. He noticed when his hair was getting long, the curls eventually having to be tucked behind his ears because they tickled him. When it became too much of a distraction, Morty set to work one night to hack the long strands off roughly with the sharp edge of a stone._

_Considering how much time Rick spent looking at him when he should’ve been working on the portal gun, there wasn’t much he didn’t notice._

_The meager scraps of refuge salvaged from the demolished portal gun were placed back together with meticulous tinkering on Rick’s part, but the power-generating ions were long since dead. The project would prove to be the ultimate test of his genius. So Rick continued to send Morty on his errands while he pored over his work._

_The uncooperative materials that Rick wrestled with perpetually delayed his progress, and every blunder cost him another unit of the precious element. The work was painstakingly slow, demanding more patience from the brash man than he’d ever had to muster before._

_Morty, for his part, remained unfazed despite the circumstances. But then again, he was always difficult to read; any assumption of Morty’s temperament was little more than wishful thinking and a projection of Rick’s own desires. It was the calm waters of the boy that made him so irresistible to Rick. He counterbalanced Rick’s hotheadedness in ways that no other Morty had managed to do before and Rick very much doubted he would be able to find again._

_The Morty of dimension D-248 was more than mere camouflage, he was a reliable partner. The poor Rickless bastard had already been pretty capable for a scrawny 13-year-old when Rick had stepped into his world that day, but the intergalactic terrorist had since groomed Morty into a flawless accomplice. Where Rick pushed, Morty pulled; where Rick flowed, Morty ebbed; and where Rick clutched with a suffocating grasp, Morty acquiesced effortlessly, easing him back from the edge._

_The two settled into their routine without skipping a beat, like it was all just one extended space adventure with no epic goal other than simply staying alive, one day at a time. And it was on this remote alien planet that Morty would play the role of Rick’s keeper and savior._

_One morning, when the mist cloaked the alien backlands in a suffocating hush, a dim light winked from the cave’s entrance. Rick was still curled in on himself in the nest of vegetation, blinking slowly as he was stirred from yet another restless sleep. His brain, already burned out from his latest roadblock, had kept him up half the night._

_The native crystalline mineral they’d found served as a promising substitute for chronoton, but the naturally occurring elements were a geological prototype compared  to the more advanced compounds he was accustomed to working with in his lab. Rick had toiled with them until his eyes crossed, manipulating the simple particles’ electron fields to make them bond to his small reserve of interdimensional atoms still left over from the portal gun. One wrong move and the unstable particles would discharge their energy at random. This translated to singed fingertips and shards of projectile imbedding themselves in the cave’s ceiling._

Fuck it _, he thought and turned over, one hand reaching automatically to feel for the warm body next to him. The space was bare and retained only a trace of residual heat. His Morty was gone._

_Against the protests of his sore joints, Rick bolted upright and looked around. A crackling sound drew his attention to the haphazard workstation where Morty sat hunched over, his form backlit by a shower of sparks. Rick fell out of the bed and scrambled to the table. An army of censures died on his tongue, as what he saw in Morty's hands took his breath away._

_Morty regarded him only for a moment before he returned his focus to the task at hand. Raw energy jumped and sputtered where he pressed two shards of the alien crystal against one another. The way they heaved together and apart like agitated magnets, Rick recognized the dangerous dance of over-energized electrons._

_“W-watch it, Morty! You gotta be careful with that!”_   _But when he tried to offer his hand, expecting Morty to give up his dangerous science experiment, he was met with a rough shrug of his shoulder that spurned his attempt at contact. Rick was used to Morty's tenacity and intense pride, but the single gesture left him taken aback as it succinctly spelled out for him the message that he had been too conceited to acknowledge before:_  I can handle this, old man. 

_As Rick looked on, the expression on Morty’s face was that of pure concentration. After another few tense moments and audible hisses of concern from Rick, he finally positioned the shards in perfect alignment, and they held. The simultaneous push and pull of their atoms spun the manipulated pieces into a perpetual generator of energy that hummed steadily. Energy pulsed from it like a heart._

_Morty looked up at Rick and grinned._

_For all his initial dismay, Rick couldn't help but grin proudly in return._

 

The small bracelet clinked innocuously to the garage floor, the chain of razor-sharp teeth retracting back into its seamless surface.

Morty peeked one eye open, first surveying the damage to his wrist—a ring of perfectly identical indentations marked the slightly swollen skin—before traveling up to his grandfather.

Something flashed across Rick’s face but was quickly replaced by the usual grizzled scowl. Swiping the bracelet up and out of view in one swift movement, Rick turned away and spat, “Do us both a favor, _Morty_. Don’t touch anything again. Y-y-you’ve got a nasty habit of ruining anything you touch, you know that?”

As his forefinger and thumb rubbed idly at the bracelet in his pocket, he pushed away the last lingering thoughts of D-248 Morty that already had his palms sweating. That bridge had long since been burned, and for good reason. If he was going to be stuck with this dimension’s Morty for the foreseeable future, then he’d have to start coming to terms with all of the boy’s shortcomings—even if that included watching him stumble right into a Flubrion Castigator.

Frustration bubbled up inside him and hardened into disdain. “Look. I, uh, think you’ve had enough fuAAUGHn playin’ in grandpa’s science lab, so, uh, so why don’t you call it a night?” He was already walking to the door while Morty wrung one hand over his torn wrist in a repetitive circular motion. Rick had gotten the machine to read brain waves at the correct REM frequency tonight, so there was little else to do. But even after he'd waved Morty through the garage door to the kitchen and firmly shut it behind him, he made his way to the desk.

Rick leaned back in his seat, crossing both long legs over the top of the desk. He pulled out his flask and took a long draw from it. His throat burned as the booze slid down to settle like a stone in his belly, grounding him. Another second and the bracelet would’ve torn right through his grandson’s arm, he mused. He sure as hell didn’t want to have to explain why he had the thing in the first place. Fishing out the bracelet again, he held it up in one hand, one of the small, metal spiders in the other.

“Be seein’ you soon, Morty.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress on Rick's latest invention drives a wedge between Rick and Morty as more memories come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This where the Explicit rating comes in, so grab a towel.

Sheets of rain pelted the garage doors, steady and unrelenting. Their dull tinny filled the air like the murmur of an impatient audience, waiting restlessly for the curtain to rise.

Morty sniffled once and rubbed at his upper arms to ward off the chill that crept through the garage walls and cement floor. The dankness had held for the past three days straight, but Morty couldn’t bring himself to slip away and change out of his painfully inadequate short-sleeved shirt. He opted to bear the discomfort if it meant spending even one more minute by Rick’s side, determined to fill the chasm that yawned between them.

Standing sentry to the mad scientist who now tinkered with the machine’s soft insides, a mess of twisting cables and bleeding MR fluids, Morty eyed the dead screen that wafted above Rick’s head. He glared up through his lashes at the blank surface, catching the translucent ghost of himself peering back out from the machine.

_That fucking machine._

More than once, Morty had entertained the thought of sneaking into the garage and bashing the thing apart. He was convinced that if he could just tear down the source of his misery into scrap metal, he'd free Rick from its thrall. But, whether intentionally thwarting Morty’s scheming or otherwise, Rick never strayed far away for long.

When the commission first came in over Rick’s transdimensional communicator, Morty had lit up at yet another chance to work alongside his grandfather. He was nearly dizzy with the need to prove himself to the one man in his life he revered and yet feared for how easily he could discard him like an empty beer bottle. Rick was a shining beacon in his otherwise dull life: smart, confident, and far above the banalities that plagued Morty’s days in the high school halls. And if Morty could find a niche to fill in Rick’s fast-paced, don’t-need-nobody world, then maybe he could escape the mundane fate that awaited him: grow up, have kids, wind up at a dead-end ad agency.

So he hoped against hope that Rick really did want him around and—in his more delirious moments—needed him. Morty knew that his role to Rick didn’t amount to much, but he did his job with all the pride he could muster. He fetched the tools that Rick barked for, held pieces in place to be screwed in or welded, and, in his more humiliating moments, served as a human stepping stool. Even the dig of Rick's shoes into his back was bliss in Morty’s touch-starved existence, every affront sounding like an accolade in his ears.

Work on the machine, which began with simple errands across the dimensions to fetch one component or another, promised to serve as a link between himself and Rick. Morty hungered for that link more and more with each passing day as it flickered like a dying bulb.

Rick’s usual blasé attitude had been replaced with a singular focus that left no room for Morty. What little attention he did spare for the quaking boy seemed to vacillate between an outright disdain for Morty’s inferior intelligence and a glib blandness for his pitiful attempts to help. One too many misunderstood directions or spilled chemicals left Morty on the periphery of Rick’s interest. He’d gone from grandpa’s little helper to little more than an observer in the span of a few weeks.

While Rick was absorbed with outfitting a tytranium exterior to the console, Morty scratched nervously at the string of scabs healing around his wrist. When he remembered how he'd reopened them last night and had awoken in blood-stained sheets, he quickly settled for rubbing them with his palm before finally shoving his hands into his pits and eyeing the sterile console uneasily.

A litany of questions fluttered on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them down like a bitter pill. He knew better than to ask. Besides laying bare his blatant ignorance of anything beyond ninth grade science, Rick wouldn’t grace him with so much as a dismissive snort.

That was the part Morty hated most.

When he spent so many nights awake, tortured by self-reproach and egged on by fantasies of saying something brilliant that would draw out a begrudging grin of approval from Rick’s usually impassive face, Morty shuddered at the thought of Rick’s eyes passing over him. He wanted to be seen and heard and praised and coddled and maybe even one day loved, if Rick was capable of it.

On those more indulgent nights, his fantasies took on a different tone, framed by an indiscernible frustration that coiled just above his groin and filled his mind with thoughts of long, roaming fingers. Praise would come in the form of panted breaths and fervent caresses that so perfectly captured the type of need his straining, adolescent body yearned for.

As things stood now, though, every thread of Morty's being was pulled at a whim in Rick’s indifferent grasp, sometimes taught as a bowstring, other times left to waft directionless in the breeze. And when Rick’s moods were as unpredictable as a stray leaf skittering over the sidewalk, Morty knew better than to hold his breath or else he'd suffocate.

“You were aAUGHlways a good kid, M-Morty,” he heard then, and his ears perked up at the sound of his name. Of their own accord, the corners of his lips lifted into a grin, a blush already blooming across his face as he heard Rick give the unsolicited praise. He checked around himself quickly, wondering what he’d done to warrant the sudden display of fondness. His hands were still idle and empty; his bottom lip, chewed raw while he fretted over his internal debate. Morty had almost started to think that Rick had forgotten he was even there. But maybe Rick hadn't completely written him off. Maybe things weren’t actually as bad off as he’d feared. “A-always there when I needed you, y-y-you champ,” Rick went on.

Embers of emotion warmed Morty’s chest. Yeah, he was a good kid. He was a champ. He’d do whatever Rick would ask of him. Oh, Rick had no idea the things he’d be willing to do, how far he’d go.

Morty stumbled over his own tongue, already taking a step closer to Rick as he cleared his throat. “Gee, th-thanks, Rick. I-I don’t—” He tugged on his earlobe, feeling it burn beneath his fingers. Just moments ago, he was on the brink of an anxiety attack, convinced that there was no salvaging what he had with Rick, and the sudden switchback was making his heart pound hard and his hands shake. He glanced up, the epitome of shy and vulnerable, hoping to catch Rick’s eyes locking with his own.

Instead, Rick’s back was still turned to him, and he was reaching one slender arm up to run a hand over the screen in what could only be a lover’s caress. He tilted his head to the side, still crooning, and Morty could make out the heavy-lidded gaze of adoration and the gentle smile that curved Rick’s lips.

Morty’s face fell. He felt like he’d been punched with a one-two straight in the gut. His hands shook in fists at his side and heat rushed to his face in a pantomime of his earlier coyness. Blood pounded in his ears, numbing his thoughts and blanketing the air with the thick thrum of rage.

Still petting his creation affectionately, Rick languidly dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out something that made Morty’s veins run cold. It was the slender gray bracelet he’d stumbled across before, the same bracelet that had nearly sawed his hand off. The hairs pricked up along his wrists as he watched Rick rub at its smooth display face with his thumb, the figures scrolling across in their foreign missive, and then rested it against his lips.

Barely feeling the floor beneath him, Morty made straight for the garage door that led out to the driveway. To his credit, he’d managed not to trip over his own feet, now iron deadweights, before practically falling against the handle. He heard Rick say something over the pounding in his ears, but it was muffled and distorted. Morty may have said something back—all false-starts and too loud in his cotton-laden head, every consonant wracking his brain until he felt ill.

He only made it two steps outside before retching on the lawn. What little dinner he’d forced down that night came up as bile-slicked lumps of brown and orange, quickly washed away by the torrents of rain that poured down around him. Fat raindrops pierced his clothes to beat against his overheated skin, and within seconds, he was drenched as he plodded in a haze to the end of the driveway.

Folded over with his hands braced on his knees, Morty looked down as he shuddered with each heave. Hot, fat drops freed themselves from his eyes and disappeared into the puddle at his feet, as murky as his thoughts and as shattered as his heart. When he opened his mouth, the gale that whipped around him dipped inside and drew out the words that hovered at the back of his throat. It carried the cry—little more than a reedy whisper—out into the dark sky, and Morty felt part of his heart go with it.

 

~~*~~

Rick had laid out packets of desiccant around the garage to keep the fine circuity of Voyeur safe from excess humidity. Though the components had shrunken considerably since version 1.0, each piece was still immeasurably expensive and exhibited only the most advanced in Rick’s genius.

The first down payment from his generous, albeit mysterious, client had arrived earlier that week, an appreciable amount that made even Rick entertain thoughts of taking the money and running before he shook it off and set about to work. After all the crazy shit he’d seen throughout the galaxies, Rick didn’t care much what his clients used his creations for—world domination, coldhearted revenge, or simply to indulge in some kinky shit—so long as they paid.

This latest commission, which he’d dubbed “Voyeur,” was designed to extract memories from its end users and display them in high definition. Early test runs still left much to be desired in the interface and imaging capabilities, but he figured he still had a few days to work out the bugs. The process itself was a thrill, however, with each run-through offering a peephole to a previous life, a life punctuated by guilt and guilty desires.

“We’re getting close to the finish line. You feel it, M-MoAAUGHrty?” he said distractedly, letting the pulses of electricity hum through him as he stood before the console. A stray paper fluttered under his heel, and he kicked it away with slight annoyance. Even when off, Voyeur pumped out an impressively high amount of voltage, tangible in the damp air. Jerry was going to throw a fit over this month’s electricity bill. He grinned against the metal pressed to his chilled lips as he mused, running the smooth surface back and forth, back and forth.

Blinking, Rick jerked his hand away from his face to eye the Flubrion Castigator clutched in his fingers. He hadn’t remembered taking it out of his pocket, and he scowled for letting himself be so distracted in the middle of his work. As he read the message ticker tape across the display, he snorted with mild chagrin.

“Just can’t seem to shake you, huh, Morty?” he muttered under his breath. The memories of D-248 were gaining a foothold in his conscious with every passing day, and the thought nettled him like a stubborn piece of meat caught between his molars. Each pass of his tongue over it just drove it in deeper.

_Morty._

“Morty?” Rick looked up, his eyes darting around the garage. Much to his surprise, it was empty. He could’ve sworn the kid had been right there a minute ago. Shoving the bracelet back into his pocket, he peered behind Voyeur, half expecting to see Morty patiently entertaining himself while he waited on Rick, as usual.  

His search was interrupted by the rhythmic smacking of the garage door against its frame. It swung open on its hinge, and the stormy winds batted it to and fro, letting in gusts of chilled air that made the hairs at his temples stand on end.

“Aw, shit,” the words dripped to the floor, no bite behind them. Running his tongue over his teeth, Rick rolled back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets. He weighed his options as he eyed the loose door with scorn. “I really don’t have—you’re seriously wasting my time with this teenage angsty b-bullshit,” he said to the empty air, but he was already reaching for the door handle and throwing it open.

A sheet of rain slapped him in the face, and he squinted his eyes against it, looking out and around for any sign of Morty. Thankfully, Morty’s bright yellow shirt stood out in the dim of the moonless night, and Rick quickly spotted him huddled by the garbage bins on the curb. He huffed, his annoyance moving up a notch.

Walking around to stand in front of Morty— _motherfucking, weak-ass, pansy pile of no-good, braindead teenage drama queen shit_ —Rick bit his tongue from the deluge of scathing remarks he had at the ready. Instead, he let out a low, gruff, “Hey.” It was swallowed by the howl of the wind and he tried again, louder. “Hey!”

Morty’s face was tucked into his arms as he sat with his knees pulled to his chest. The rain had left his curls darker and flattened against his scalp. He didn’t move.

“Hey! Numb nuts!” Rick barked, and this time, Morty stirred. He looked up—no, glared up at Rick with unveiled hatred, and his hands clenched and unclenched into fists. Rick glared back, momentarily confused but unwilling to let it show, before turning to the side with a feigned look of boredom. “Yeah, y-you might wanna get inside, b-befoAAUGHre you get water up your pussy. What are you, on the rag or something?”

Without turning to him, Rick stuck out his hand like a parent confiscating a neutrino bomb from a toddler. Morty was silent and stock-still, the intensity of his eyes constant as they bored into the side of Rick’s face. Rick tapped his foot impatiently against the wet pavement, refusing to give in to his grandson’s stupid game of chicken or whatever the fuck he thought this was. The hell was he trying to prove, anyway? Now they were both soaking wet. Congratu-fuckin’-lations.

After a minute passed, Morty finally unfurled himself and wilted with a shuddering sigh, extending his hand up to grab Rick’s. Rick lifted him easily to his feet, and hauled him back to the garage.

 

_It rained like a beast on that planet._

_The flash floods and landslides back on Earth were nothing compared to the terror the sheets of glycerin-laced water did to the planet’s surface. The already scarce plant life bent and snapped under the weight, and whole flatlands were unnavigable when the rain pooled five inches thick over the ground._

_Curious, the two had sampled the first raindrops that fell, the sweetness a welcome respite from their modest meals of alien grubs, but anything more than a couple of tastes and they were both doubled over, emptying their bowels and stomachs to the point of dizzying dehydration. Only patient and diligent filtration made it potable._

_The short solar cycles were cut even shorter during the two-month-long monsoon, and Morty now often came back to the camp empty handed and reticent. His already slight frame had been whittled down to only sinewy muscle and grimy skin. Rick was faring little better, the effects of malnutrition and sleep deprivation wreaking havoc on his sanity. His devil-may-care apathy for their circumstances had steadily warped to a dull malaise and finally succumbed to the stress. He was blinded by a rabid fervor for stimulation, distraction, and a yearning for a bottle of Hennessy. But where Rick was wired and harried, nearly frothing at the mouth, Morty remained stolid and unmoved even in the face of Rick’s most scathing tirades._

_If not for one night where he had heard Morty stroking himself frantically with his fingers buried in his own ass, he’d have been convinced that the boy didn’t have a shred of need in him. To his credit, Rick had had the decency to lie still and ignore the lewd gasps, settling to clutch firmly at his own swollen member until the keening moans crested and died away and Morty returned silently to bed._

_The rain stuck to everything and reduced it to an oozy mess that was eroding away at Rick’s usually razor-sharp perception and fraying the ends of his nerves. Impromptu showers under the alien rain only left him feeling sticky and obnoxiously slick to the point that it made it impossible to do any meaningful work. Rick kept himself holed up in their makeshift shelter for the better part of the day, putting off his work on the portal gun to putter around on asinine tasks, such as carefully counting the number of bristly needles that grew from the only robust plant on the planet’s surface. “1,036 needles, Morty. There’re 1,036 needles on each of these fuckin’ stems, Morty. What do you say to that?”_

_Hours would pass silently between them in the night, Rick with his side projects, and Morty fighting for warmth, alone in his improvised bedding of moss and flora. Only in the darkest of the night would Rick give in to the siren of sleep and huddle, nearly mad with a need for escape, against the young boy’s warm back._

_When Morty stumbled into the cave weeks after the torrential rains had started, Rick only flicked his eyes up from his task. Morty’s hands were shaking as he unloaded his backpack of the precious few goods he’d managed to collect that day. Another fistful of subterranean mites would be their meal for the umpteenth time, and, to be perfectly honest, Rick was growing tired of their acidic sting. He craved salt and the weighty feel of meat on his tongue._

_He gnashed his teeth, wanting so badly to tear into something._

_The viscous water oozed in thick rivulets down Morty’s hair and arms to pool in a slick puddle near the entrance where he’d collapsed on his hands and knees. He glowered up at Rick through the persistent curtain of gelatinous rain._

_Tired, hungry, and toeing the line of sheer hopelessness, words were kept at a minimum, as though to preserve their remaining strength._

_"What did you find?”_

_"Will this be enough?”_

_“Can you push your range another mile?”_

_“Will we survive?”_

_As though the void of actual conversation was too much to face._

_"Nothing.”_

_“It’ll have to be.”_

_“I’ll try.”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_Rick knew that with his own sanity nearing collapse, it made sense to preserve what little semblance of human interaction he had. So Rick got up from his workstation to retrieve his Morty from the cave entrance._

_As Rick offered his hand, Morty caught it in a firm grasp. But instead of pulling himself up, Morty tightened his grip and yanked Rick down into the mud with him._

_Momentarily stunned, Rick didn’t register the first onslaught of small fists that pummeled his chest and sides. The two fell outside the safety of the cave’s overhang and slid ungainly down the small hill and into a deep puddle of slick water. For a while, they wrestled messily through the mud, a string of muffled grunts and Rick’s hissed curses the only noise beneath the slapping of rain on the matted earth. First, Rick was on top, then Morty as he used what little strength he had left to flip him over and deliver a merciless punch to Rick’s left cheek. Their arms flailed in a blur, each trying to gain purchase over the other, until Rick managed to catch both small wrists in his hand. With a quick twist of his hips, he had Morty on his back and pinned._

_Already at the end of his patience and now covered in rain and muck, Rick wrenched Morty’s hands cruelly over his head. The way his ever-stolid Morty gasped and scrunched his face in pain was almost…satisfying. Rick’s heart lurched, hammering against his ribcage, and he knew it wasn’t just their scuffle that had blood pounding in his ears.  If he was on the threshold of madness, then he’d bring Morty there too, kicking and screaming if he had to. He’d tear it out of him._

_It had to be all or nothing, just like this godforsaken planet._

_Rick leaned in closer and practically growled in his ear, “Wrong move.” The smell of the boy stabbed through the sickeningly sweet alien rain, all impatient juvenile musk and sweat. Soaked through, Morty squirmed relentlessly against Rick’s grasp, his small frame thrashing, heaving, writhing._

_Rick swallowed._

_Now that he had him where he wanted him, he didn’t know what to do next. In all their adventures, Rick had never had to restrain Morty like this, and the feeling of forcing himself on him was so foreign, that it was both titillating and absolutely horrifying. He felt like a wrangler with an animal that was too big for its chains._

_And in that moment, the animal broke free. Morty surged up as though to snap at Rick’s neck, but only his lips grazed Rick’s slick skin, leaving barely a whisper over the downpour around them. In its ghostly wake, Rick felt a shiver travel down his throat, across his heart, and bury itself deep in his groin._

_Below him, Morty only panted and pinned him with a stare that was nothing short of a challenge. “Your move,” his level voice countered._

_A crack of brilliant green in the skies overhead snapped Rick out of his wonder. Staying outside of the shelter in an electrical storm was suicidal, and as much as the idea would have appealed to him on any other planet, he suddenly found he had something that deserved his undivided attention._

_He unceremoniously dragged Morty up with him and into the confines of the cave._

~~*~~

Rick awoke with a jolt.

A small pool of drool glittered beneath him on his desk, and he looked at it closely before grunting and wiping it away with his sleeve. This only left a larger streak of moisture. He frowned. Nearby sat a delicate circuit board belonging to Voyeur, one tool still pinched on a corner, waiting for him to finish the final formatting. It appeared to be unharmed.

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Hell of a dream there, M-MoARUGHrty. You ever have one of those ones where—” He swiveled in his chair to look around the garage, but Morty wasn’t there. Rick coughed an awkward _ahem_ into his fist and then turned back to his desk. “Hell. Of. A. Dream,” he repeated to nobody.

Pushing aside the lingering sensation of bone-chilling wetness and the semi in his pants, he picked up the tool and made as if to set to work again. His fingers moved stiffly and after a few flubs, he swore loudly and put the project aside.

Not knowing what else to do with himself, he reached for a drink. His pocket was empty and his flask lay on its side, contents already half-dried on the floor. It was no wonder the place smelled even more sharply of liquor than usual. Rick glared hard at it, trying to place how and when he’d dropped it.

The last thing he could clearly remember was scolding Morty after he'd hauled him back inside from his angst-ridden outburst in the rain. He remembered manhandling his grandson more roughly than he usually did, remembered the slight thrill of leaving finger-shaped bruises on his arms and shoulders.

Morty had been mad. Said something about…something. Something about the thing. All he remembered was Morty standing with fists at his sides and a dull roaring coming from everywhere even as he watched Morty’s mouth move around piercing syllables. His eyes had been… Had been something wrong. Not their usual blue. They were red and wet. Really wet like the rest of his face. All wet from… It was the rain, right? Yeah, the kid was soaking. Soaked through.

_Soaked through and writhing._

He got up quickly from his seat and paced the small garage. A headache was sneaking up on him, threatening to go full migraine as it pounded at his temples, and he cursed in English and an assortment of alien languages as he struggled to recall the events of the previous night. Rick's head felt bleary and thick, and it wasn’t just because of the 0.12 BAC fizzling away in his veins. He coughed around a dry mouth, tasting the copper tanginess of a throat rubbed raw.

Opening the floor cabinet between his legs, an assortment of brightly colored bottles of every conceivable shape greeted his eyes—his own personal collection of medicines and cleaning products from across the multiverse. He didn’t even have to read the labels to know which he needed. 

“Ah, Splendor Serum 3000. JuAUGHst what the doctor ordered,” Rick cooed at the light blue liquid in its thin, beaker-shaped container. He tossed back a swig of the Splendor and slammed his fist down on the desk to tame his roiling stomach. One second and then two, and the elixir gradually unwound the knots in his head, detaching nerve synapses to keep the “drunk” signal from running rampant through his psychosomatic scene.

Though his alcohol level still hovered dangerously high, the reprieve left him feeling loose-limbed and utterly relaxed. Where the fog around his mind had lifted, a heavy weight of exhaustion settled in its place, dulling his senses and calming him down to the point where he could’ve sworn his very heart rate was slowing to a stop.

It felt like moving through molasses as he slumped down into the chair again, ready to sit out the high. It’d have been blissful except for that something that kept nagging at the corner of his mind, like a persistent kitten pawing at a loose thread. It unraveled just a little as the kitten’s claws sunk into it.

He’d done bad, and not the usual kind of bad he did on a daily basis with gusto. This was the kind of bad that profoundly shifted his own reality. He plucked absently at the front of his sweater, wrinkling his nose at how it stuck, clammy, to his chest.

The bit of thread unraveled further.

 _“Fucking Christ, Morty! M-maybe if you weren’t such a little bitch, I wouldn't have to be f-fucking holding your hand all the time_ — ** _literally_** _, Morty!”_

Rick breathed in deeply and clasped both hands in front of his face before cupping them over his eyes to block out the light and awful, awful noise of his own memories. He then dragged his fingers down his face, pulling the thin skin beneath his eyes into a grotesque circus caricature.

_“I’ve got news for you, Morty. You're not what I need! And you never will be, ding-dong!”_

The ghosts of the previous night’s yelling match echoed and died in the empty garage, then there was a pair of tear-stained eyes boring into him. _“Can't you see I-I-I'm trying here?”_ They were awfully close now. _“I'm right here, damn it!”_

Such small and strong hands he had as they bunched in his sweater, trying to get leverage. Rick had met his grasp in turn, gripping tightly at his shoulder, about to shove the boy away when Morty abruptly gave in to the touch and closed the distance between—

Rick swiveled sharply away from the desk.

It was then that he finally noticed the sunlight filtering through from beneath the garage doors. A quick glance at his Earth-time wristwatch told him it was 10:44 a.m.  Too late for anyone to still be in the house on a weekday, too early for him to have any hope of slipping back into his regular nocturnal sleep cycle. Whatever had happened last night itched in the back of his mind, but kept slipping through his fingers like sand when he tried to grasp it.

“Aw, to heEUPRGHll with it.” Rick didn’t like not knowing. It wasn’t in his nature to simply **_not_** know. He stood and quickly shrugged off the wet lab coat from his shoulders. Still riding the pleasant buzz of the Splendor, he opened the door to the kitchen to get away from the stuffy garage where the very walls felt like they were judging him.

His feet led him through the empty living room, up the creaky stairs, and straight to Morty’s bedroom door.  He figured the kid was at school by now, as evidenced by the way the door hung slightly ajar—an indication of Morty’s usual hasty departure to get to school on time. And he was about to pass by it without a second thought, when he heard a withered moan from inside.

He prodded the door softly with his forefinger, and it swung silently on its hinges into the darkened room. The window blinds were drawn, the sunlight tumbling weakly in to cast the entire room in a muted shadow.

“H-hey, Morty? You in here? B-buddy?” He took a step forward and felt one foot squelch into the wet lump of a yellow shirt. A muffled noise came from the bed in the corner. The overstuffed comforter shifted, and a thin, pale arm flopped out to hang over the side. Morty groaned again.

Rick made his way over in three quick strides, already reaching out to check on Morty, when he felt the first wave of heat emanating from the small body. Even in the semi-dark, he caught the glistening sheen on Morty’s skin.

The boy was burning up.

All the late nights of the past few weeks. The tantrum in the rain. The fight about…whatever it was. It was no wonder the frail boy had come down with a fever, and he looked to be in the throes of a fever dream.

“R…Rick…?” Morty’s glassy eyes focused on nothing in particular, and his narrow chest quivered up and down like a hummingbird’s through his shallow breaths. His face broke like a shattered window pane. “Why would you…be here? Don’t you—don’t you—?” His eyes fluttered and rolled back in his head.

Rick scanned the bedside table. No pills. Not even a glass of water. Yet another stellar display of good parenting in the Smith household. He twisted his lips in a pale attempt at a smile. “Let's see what we—how you're holding up there, M-Morty.” Propped up on one hand, he reached for Morty's sweat-slicked forehead. As his weight sunk into the soft mattress, it pulled the blanket tighter across Morty’s chest, making him thrash suddenly, howling about the heat.

“Whoa, Morty! Jeezus! All right.” Rick backed off, raising both hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Calm down, kid. I’m not gonna—I’m not gonna touch you!” But Morty only keened until he’d managed to shuck the covers off himself entirely.

A rosy pink Morty now lay before him, completely exposed save for the comforter bunched up around his hips. His arms were raised over his head in what would have been a painfully obvious invitation in any other situation but this.  The heat radiating from his skin was palpable in the dry bedroom air, and Rick couldn't help skirting his eyes over the boy's exposed belly, the soft curves of his ribs poking out from beneath supple skin, the pink nubs drawn taught against the cool air. Coupled with his disheveled hair plastered to this skin and shallow, wavering breaths, it was almost too much for the old man to take.

Rick gulped, and his cock twitched.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the alien downer riding out in his veins. Maybe it was just something that had waited and festered in his twisted mind long enough. Whatever it was, it pushed Rick to lean close, then closer still, until he hovered just above those slightly parted lips. The hot puffs of breath kissed like pop-rocks over his tongue which suddenly felt too thick for his mouth.

His brain was already halfway delirious with fatigue, and the warm room and even warmer flesh pinned beneath him on the pliant bed was quickly eating up what little reserve of discipline he had left. Rick lifted a hand and made as though to feel Morty’s forehead but instead came to rest on one hot cheek. When those long, cold fingers touched his face, it eased Morty's furrowed brow, and the boy sighed, nestling into the soothing touch.

With his hand pinned beneath Morty’s head, Rick slowly, sweetly broke apart in that moment. His shoulder creaked as he finally collapsed with a quiet _poomf_ on the bed, facing Morty and only distantly wondering if this was a good idea. Before the allure of slumber finally overtook him, he lifted his other hand to gently wipe a sweat-dampened lock from Morty’s forehead.

 

_Rick gently wiped a sweat-dampened lock from Morty’s forehead as he looked down at him with smug satisfaction. Morty returned his stare defiantly even while tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he struggled to take in all of the old man’s cock into his mouth._

_Uncoordinated with his glaring inexperience, he was a messy whirlwind of action, alternating between lapping at the head and shaft and stretching his mouth over the girth of it. Rick’s chest swelled at the sight of Morty’s hallowed, flushed cheeks as they sucked hungrily at his cock, but on the few occasions when Morty’s teeth scraped a little too roughly over the sensitive skin, he didn’t mind cruelly twisting his ear in warning. “Careful there,” he’d murmur, then quickly reward him with a hand through his hair which made Morty snuffle a sigh around the thick member._

_His knees in the soft padding of their makeshift bed, hands braced on his grandfather’s bare hips, Rick almost couldn’t believe it was the same Morty from just an hour ago. The boy’s usual stoic coolness was replaced by this fiery flurry of motion, both cautious and desperate in its attempt to pleasure Rick. And for all of Rick’s years indulging in every conceivable manner of carnal hedonism that the great expanse of the universe had to offer, he now found himself painfully aroused and so thoroughly mystified by this deceivingly plain human boy. While the years spent working in tandem had fostered a fierce urge to protect Morty, his partner’s unwavering self-reliance rarely brought that urge to light. Any feelings of affection that Rick held for Morty were easy enough to write off as an innocuous paternal love or the bond that comrades share._

_It was only now in the dim of the cave, illuminated by bursts of lightning from the electrical storm raging outside, that Rick felt acutely possessive of Morty. This new development had him perched atop a precarious cliff where unfamiliar territory and even more untold possibilities lay beneath the steep precipice._

_Morty dragged his tongue firmly along the underside of Rick’s shaft. Rick shuddered a low moan and lazily rolled his hips forward into the wet and wanting mouth, wincing slightly as it nudged against the tight recesses of Morty’s throat. Before he could pull back, though, Morty clutched firmly at his hips and drove himself deeper onto Rick until his short and soft breaths huffed over the coarse pubic hairs._

_Rick’s knees quaked at the enveloping softness and heat, and he placed his hands on Morty’s shoulders to keep from tumbling over right there. When Rick’s erection twitched eagerly inside his throat, Morty finally gagged, wrenching himself off to gasp for air. His fingers quivered where they still clung to Rick as the mixture of saliva and pre-cum dribbled out of his mouth and onto the ground._

_Rick swiftly crouched down in front of Morty, cupping the boy’s chin in his hand to look him over. Hot tears and sweat streaked his face, and where a usually deadpan expression made him nearly impossible to read, the message now rang loud and clear: **want**. Morty abruptly turned his face away and out of Rick’s grasp._

_With a snarl, Morty tackled him, pushing Rick down with a grunt onto the lab coat that he’d shucked off the moment they’d first stumbled into the cave. Before Rick could react, Morty grabbed his hands and shoved them stubbornly against his hard prick. It stood stiffly at attention, glans peeking out, red and angry, from the foreskin pulled taught over the erection. Milky pearls of pre-cum oozed generously from the tip, wetting Rick’s palms. Rick had only rarely allowed himself to enjoy fantasizing about his grandson’s member, and now that he held its weight in his hand, he gave it an appreciable squeeze._

_That was all it took to push Morty over the edge, stumbling through his orgasm as though even he weren’t prepared for it. Morty’s eyes blew wide, and he shuddered under the wave of spiked pleasure that took him, a thick stream of ejaculate shooting between Rick’s fingers and landing on the man’s thighs and stomach. His prick still throbbed rhythmically in Rick’s hand, the first of his reserve spent, as Rick thoroughly milked him. Morty panted and rested his forehead against Rick’s chest, mumbling something in great, heaving breaths. Something like a curse, something like a mantra._

_While Morty was still fumbling in his euphoric afterglow, Rick tipped his head up and ran a languid tongue over the boy’s parted lips and against his teeth and gums. The salt of his own junk was still in his mouth and he relished its flavor that resonated of meat and blood after having gone so long without. Morty was pliant beneath him, barely conscious enough to counter Rick’s rough ministrations of his tongue, content to simply grope at Rick’s chest, much like a kneading kitten._

_While Rick explored Morty’s mouth with his tongue, he allowed his hands to explore the rest of Morty’s pert and yielding body. As he ran them down Morty’s sides, pinching and squeezing just to marvel at how the young skin sprung back, Morty whimpered and gasped, rousing himself from his post-coital stupor. By now, Rick had coaxed Morty down onto his back, but he kept rising up to suck hungrily at Rick’s lip, the haphazard attempts at kissing slightly more refined than just earlier. The kid was always good at picking up on things, from deftly handling alien weaponry to eliciting moans of pleasure from his grandfather, Rick thought idly as he lapped and nuzzled at Morty’s chest, taking particular time to appreciate the pink nipples that stiffened under his tongue._

_Morty squirmed and bucked beneath him, the fire of want roaring through him again and his prick still leaking on his belly. He was like a tightly wound coil, shaking against the cool air, the first orgasm barely taking the edge off of the pent-up hunger. Rick grinned at the thought that it’d be up to him to undo him completely._

_Intensely aware of his own need for release, Rick flipped Morty onto his stomach with little pretense, pinning him with a solid hand on his back. Morty clawed futilely at the scrub beneath him, dirt from the cave’s floor biting into his temple and cheek.  But even now, he was scrambling back towards Rick, not away, his tiny ass nudging insistently at Rick’s groin. A quiet keen slipped from his throat, the burn of need plainly written on his face._

_“R-Rick…”_

_Rick all but fell part right then and there. He gripped the base of his shaft in a tight fist to temper his arousal, taking a moment to ground himself. Here was his grandson’s tight and virgin body splayed out in a wanton mess, outright begging for him. After months in this backwards alien desert with no more than a few rare, private indulgences, Rick doubted he’d be able to last long. He gripped himself a little tighter. Then he’d just have to make every minute count._

_He bowed over the boy’s smaller back, nestling the head of his dick against Morty’s tight entrance. Leftover gelatinous rainwater still dripped generously from between Morty’s thighs, and Rick was reminded that maybe there was one thing to be thankful for on this planet. Morty whimpered audibly, body clenching with apprehension at what he’d wanted for so long. Burying his face in Morty’s curls, Rick eased them both down onto their sides, taking the time to kiss wetly at the back of his neck._

_"Shh, baby. It’s—it’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he murmured, already slipping an arm beneath Morty’s leg and hoisting it up and out of the way. Morty’s dick bobbed expectantly, fresh pre-cum oozing from its slit._

_“C’mon already! Just—just do it!” Morty bucked sharply back and onto the head of Rick’s lubed member, impaling himself on the burning rod of flesh. For a moment, neither one moved, the crash of sensations tearing across them like a swift punch to the stomach. Morty then arched back and cried out silently, a choked gasp rasping its way out of his throat. His limbs went stiff as he simultaneously tried to wrench himself free and bear himself down on the rock-solid staff. The result was a feverish bucking and rocking that had Morty fucking himself on Rick’s cock like a seasoned whore._

_It took Rick everything he had to stay in control, the squeeze of Morty’s tight hole threatening to stir up the growing orgasm within him. “M-Morty! Relax!” He wrapped an arm across Morty’s chest to still him, the other hand petting gently at his nape. Morty only whined incoherently; but, bit by bit, the tension eased out of his arms and legs, and he collapsed in a puddle, though his hole still clenched in spasms. Thick tears poured over his nose and wet the moss beneath him, but he made no motion to wipe them away._

_Rick was whispering a string of praise into Morty’s ear, lauding him for what a good boy he was, such a good boy, grandpa’s favorite, so good, so fucking good to him. When Morty’s breathing had finally evened, Rick carefully, painfully pulled out an inch. The lubricating fluids squelched where his cock squeezed past the furl of tight muscle, and he could feel Morty’s insides flutter again and then clamp down, as though pulling him back in. Who was he to deny him? He thrust in, deeper this time, into the warm wetness, the squeeze on his dick feeling amazing and overwhelming and still so obviously not enough. Morty’s mouth fell open, gulping for air like a drowning man, like he was dying even though he’d never felt more alive._

_And then he was meeting Rick’s thrusts, pushing back at just the right angle to draw Rick in so deep that his balls nudged his own. The swell of Rick’s thickness stretched his ass more than his fingers ever could, and it burned, burned so good, stoking the fire inside him. He moaned in his young, warbling voice, stuttering for the first time in what had to have been years. Rick remembered how Morty stuttered when they first met, stuttered even when his eyes were like steel, stuttered when he bandaged the bloodied knuckles of his right hand._

_Now the ramble of moans and curses kept coming, making up for the years of silence. Morty had always been the reticent type, first the stigma of his stutter discouraging him from speaking, then the interdimensional escapades with his long-winded grandfather sparing him any need to talk. It was like the floodgates had now opened, every primal need tumbling out and making itself heard for the first time._

_Rick’s blood ran hot at the sound of his grandson’s pleas for more, faster, deeper, rougher, and he pistoned his hips to oblige him. He rolled Morty onto his belly, lifting his narrow hips with one hand while the other held him down behind the neck. Morty wheezed and his cheeks reddened, but still he begged aloud for Rick to fuck him._

_Flesh slapped against flesh as Rick pummeled him with abandon, all the prowess and poise he’d fostered over a lifetime suddenly worthless, leaving him to rut like an animal in heat. Morty’s moans were jarred with every crushing thrust. Caught between Rick’s hold on his neck and his stiff cock in his ass, he was at the mercy of Rick’s pace, forced to endure whatever Rick gave him, however he gave it._

_Little else registered to Rick besides the tantalizing squeeze of Morty’s ass around him. The familiar ache of an approaching orgasm swelled inside him, stirring at the base of his shaft like a storm on the horizon. Face flushed with arousal and an unplaceable affection, Rick took his hand from Morty’s neck to wrap it firmly around his throbbing prick, but not before rubbing a thumb gently at where a fresh bruise was forming below his hairline. The alluring moans and pitiful whimpers punctuated by needy gasps were music to his ears as Rick played Morty like an instrument._

_He tugged gingerly at the foreskin, using it to stroke him within the sheath, while his knuckles rubbed tenderly at the underside. At the first tug, Morty’s hip jerked forward headily into the touch, and he would’ve tumbled off of Rick’s dick if it weren’t for the man’s stern grasp on one ass cheek. Rick slowed his thrusts as he played idly with his grandson’s member, reaching under to run a palm over his balls and up the bottom of his shaft, all the while crooning to Morty, “Th-there’s a good boy. You want your grandpa’s cock, don’t you? Don’t you, Morty? Don’t you, y-y-you little sport? Let grandpa know you want—how much you want it.” He pulled out until just the head was nestled inside._

_Morty practically wailed, wriggling his ass in an attempt to drive Rick in again. Fresh tears sprung to his eyes as he squeezed them shut against the torment. “Please, Rick! I-I-I want it! I want your cock! I-I want everything! Please d-don’t stop!” he stuttered unabashedly. Another gob of pre-cum dripped onto the carpet of vegetation, already a mess of ejaculate and tears and sweat, tethering him like an umbilical cord to where they’d previously slept so innocently, denying the inevitable._

_"There’s a good boy,” Rick purred, pulling Morty against him as he leaned back against the cave wall. The sweat of Morty’s back mixed with his own as Morty surrendered to the perilous embrace, so very vulnerable with arms splayed and his own weight bearing him down fully onto the intruding member so that he was filled impossibly, completely. Atop his throne, Morty balked and clawed at Rick’s thighs, another orgasm surging and ultimately ripping through him. He kept on writhing through the explosion, every muscle, every cell clenching and unclenching, stars bursting behind his eyes, even as Rick hummed deep in his throat and nestled his face into Morty’s hair._

_Rick’s arms tightened around Morty, and he began fucking desperately up into him to chase his swelling orgasm until he finally caught up, and it was crashing over him, spilling out and into the sweet, hot hole that ached for him, that he ached for, and it kept coming until it burned, until his own oversensitive cock wept with all that he had._

_And then he was bucking up until there was nothing left, and there was only the smoldering embers tingling at his fingers. And Morty was a puppet with its strings cut, panting and murmuring against his chest, as Rick slumped down into that dark abyss illuminated by bursts of lightning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is already in the works, but some upcoming life events will put it on a bit of a hiatus. In the meantime, feel free to check us out on Twitter: twitter.com/futagogo


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